A Bad Day
Driving a nail through a finger, Then not able to extract the nail;
Dropping an anvil onto a reinforced-toe boot,
Then hobbling off,
All are bothersome.
Now I have been off liquor, pot, street drugs,
Lots of junk since '72.
But I retain the hubris of tobacco,
And I tried to sneak a cigar
At 3 AM, but I got busted.
There are mistakes lurking at every turn,
And at every turn
I must eat them.
My face is as cratered as the moon
With errors run into squarely.
The only light of day flowing if I do no thing.
Stan Petrovich's Other Poems
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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